Inside the rise of injectables and the new age of cosmetic tweaks
From TikTok facelifts to 'baby Botox', cosmetic fixes are booming. What's driving the quest for perfection, asks Catherine McGregor in today's extract from The Bulletin.
An age-old industry, a new face
Devoting a Bulletin to cosmetic procedures might seem a bit left-field, but with Alex Casey's cover story on Botox leading The Spinoff this morning, it's the perfect chance to take stock of how – and why – so many New Zealanders are choosing to change their faces. From a few discreet units of 'baby Botox' to the full ordeal of a surgical lift, cosmetic medicine is broader and more accessible than ever. Just look at the global fascination with Kris Jenner's new face, or the TikTok shockwaves caused by Michelle Wood, the American woman who recently went to Mexico for a frankly incredible face lift that cost her just US$14,000 (NZ$23,000).
It's no wonder 'cosmetic tourism' is booming, with places like Thailand luring New Zealanders seeking cheaper fixes than they can get at home. But as plastic surgeon Chris Adams told The Project in 2023, bargain shopping for your face comes with serious risks. 'I have seen patients who've come back, who've had much greater costs managing complications than they would've had if they'd funded the surgery in New Zealand,' he says.
Is everyone using Botox?
While a Mexican face lift is a step too far for most of us, Botox is firmly in the mainstream – as Alex discovered firsthand. At 33, she's decades away from needing (or wanting) major surgery, but the sight of lines starting to etch themselves onto her face led her to a cosmetic nurse's office. 'Also, every day on Instagram I see women twice my age with foreheads that look 10 years younger than mine and it makes me feel insane so yeah, no wonder I have fucking frown lines,' she writes.
In her piece, Alex talks to women who swear by injectables, women who recoil from them, and women – like herself – who feel both tempted and furious about the prospect. As she leaves the injector's office, 'I am bubbling with an incandescent fury that I don't know where to direct,' she writes. 'I am angry at the nice nurse for hurting my feelings, but I am angrier at myself for asking her to.'
Selfies, filters and 'Instagram face'
What's driving this collective obsession? Part of the answer is in our pockets. As Julia Coffey wrote for The Conversation, selfie-editing apps like FaceTune and FaceApp give people a glimpse of a new and improved version of themselves with smoother skin, bigger eyes or sharper cheekbones. Cosmetic procedures offer a chance to make that fantasy self a reality.
And as Jia Tolentino explored in The New Yorker (paywalled), all those subtle digital edits are helping to create a new beauty monoculture: 'Instagram Face', which Tolentino described as 'a single, cyborgian face… young … of course, with poreless skin and plump, high cheekbones. It has catlike eyes and long, cartoonish lashes; it has a small, neat nose and full, lush lips … it's distinctly white but ambiguously ethnic.' What began with the Kim Kardashians of the world has trickled down through celebrities, influencers and selfie-editing apps to become an achievable (if expensive) aesthetic standard for women everywhere.
Social media – or something else?
While social media is an easy villain, the real driver could be more basic: it's simply easier than ever to buy a better face. As Martha Gill puts it in The Guardian, 'it is more affordable, more widespread and more advertised. Another huge barrier to treatment is meanwhile falling away: stigma.'
That new openness is something Alex's piece lays bare. For many women she spoke to, the deciding factor wasn't a celebrity's wrinkle-free forehead, but a friend's. One got her first injections after complimenting a pal: 'She said, 'thanks, I get Botox' – then I looked into it and started getting it too.' One user summed up how many of us feel: 'So many of my friends get it, and it makes you feel like you're in this race against time – and everyone else.'
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The Spinoff
6 hours ago
- The Spinoff
Inside the rise of injectables and the new age of cosmetic tweaks
From TikTok facelifts to 'baby Botox', cosmetic fixes are booming. What's driving the quest for perfection, asks Catherine McGregor in today's extract from The Bulletin. An age-old industry, a new face Devoting a Bulletin to cosmetic procedures might seem a bit left-field, but with Alex Casey's cover story on Botox leading The Spinoff this morning, it's the perfect chance to take stock of how – and why – so many New Zealanders are choosing to change their faces. From a few discreet units of 'baby Botox' to the full ordeal of a surgical lift, cosmetic medicine is broader and more accessible than ever. Just look at the global fascination with Kris Jenner's new face, or the TikTok shockwaves caused by Michelle Wood, the American woman who recently went to Mexico for a frankly incredible face lift that cost her just US$14,000 (NZ$23,000). It's no wonder 'cosmetic tourism' is booming, with places like Thailand luring New Zealanders seeking cheaper fixes than they can get at home. But as plastic surgeon Chris Adams told The Project in 2023, bargain shopping for your face comes with serious risks. 'I have seen patients who've come back, who've had much greater costs managing complications than they would've had if they'd funded the surgery in New Zealand,' he says. Is everyone using Botox? While a Mexican face lift is a step too far for most of us, Botox is firmly in the mainstream – as Alex discovered firsthand. At 33, she's decades away from needing (or wanting) major surgery, but the sight of lines starting to etch themselves onto her face led her to a cosmetic nurse's office. 'Also, every day on Instagram I see women twice my age with foreheads that look 10 years younger than mine and it makes me feel insane so yeah, no wonder I have fucking frown lines,' she writes. In her piece, Alex talks to women who swear by injectables, women who recoil from them, and women – like herself – who feel both tempted and furious about the prospect. As she leaves the injector's office, 'I am bubbling with an incandescent fury that I don't know where to direct,' she writes. 'I am angry at the nice nurse for hurting my feelings, but I am angrier at myself for asking her to.' Selfies, filters and 'Instagram face' What's driving this collective obsession? Part of the answer is in our pockets. As Julia Coffey wrote for The Conversation, selfie-editing apps like FaceTune and FaceApp give people a glimpse of a new and improved version of themselves with smoother skin, bigger eyes or sharper cheekbones. Cosmetic procedures offer a chance to make that fantasy self a reality. And as Jia Tolentino explored in The New Yorker (paywalled), all those subtle digital edits are helping to create a new beauty monoculture: 'Instagram Face', which Tolentino described as 'a single, cyborgian face… young … of course, with poreless skin and plump, high cheekbones. It has catlike eyes and long, cartoonish lashes; it has a small, neat nose and full, lush lips … it's distinctly white but ambiguously ethnic.' What began with the Kim Kardashians of the world has trickled down through celebrities, influencers and selfie-editing apps to become an achievable (if expensive) aesthetic standard for women everywhere. Social media – or something else? While social media is an easy villain, the real driver could be more basic: it's simply easier than ever to buy a better face. As Martha Gill puts it in The Guardian, 'it is more affordable, more widespread and more advertised. Another huge barrier to treatment is meanwhile falling away: stigma.' That new openness is something Alex's piece lays bare. For many women she spoke to, the deciding factor wasn't a celebrity's wrinkle-free forehead, but a friend's. One got her first injections after complimenting a pal: 'She said, 'thanks, I get Botox' – then I looked into it and started getting it too.' One user summed up how many of us feel: 'So many of my friends get it, and it makes you feel like you're in this race against time – and everyone else.'
Otago Daily Times
6 hours ago
- Otago Daily Times
New 'rules of engagement' with alcohol lobby
By Guyon Espiner of RNZ New "rules of engagement" for health officials dealing with the alcohol industry are coming after a senior staffer complained a public health manager had been "way too friendly" with booze lobbyists. In May it was reported that Ross Bell, a manager with the Ministry of Health's Public Health Agency, had close engagement with alcohol lobbyists, who were granted input into the development of alcohol policies. References to a review of safe drinking guidelines were removed from a Health New Zealand website after an alcohol lobbyist complained to Bell. On the day the story was published, Deputy Director-General of Health Dr Andrew Old sent an email to staff saying Bell had "acted entirely appropriately" in his engagement with the alcohol industry. "Engaging with industry can, and has, yielded meaningful health gains for New Zealanders in the past - and will do so again," the email said. "However, we also know that some industry interests lead to public health harm, and so our engagement needs to be careful, mature, and intentional." Old invited Ministry of Health staff to respond. Dr Clair Mills, who provides advice to the Public Health Advisory committee, took issue with the engagement with the alcohol industry. "I do think there is a problem - at the very least, in terms of perception," she wrote to Old, in emails released under the Official Information Act. The alcohol industry's fight against Local Alcohol Policies - where communities set their own conditions for sale - revealed its motivations, Mill said. It contrasted with the "lack of community voice and power". RNZ's reporting revealed a series of emails between Bell and alcohol lobbyists, which showed close relationships, multiple meetings and exchanges of information. "I think the tone of the emails was way too friendly," Mills, whose career includes serving as Medical Director for Médecins Sans Frontières' and as Medical Officer of Health in Northland, said in her email to Old. "In my experience… these alcohol interests have zero interest in reducing harm (or sales of booze) and a huge purse to fund their lawyers." 'Perception becomes reality' Old responded to Mills saying stronger processes for health officials engaging with the alcohol industry were being prepared. "All good points - perception becomes reality after all," he told her. "Given we are expected to engage with industry, whether that's alcohol, food or anything else (except tobacco!) it would help to have some clear rules of engagement. I'm picking that up with our central MOH team." Tobacco lobbyists are shut out of policy making because New Zealand is a signatory to the Framework Convention on Tobacco Control (FCTC). Under the FCTC countries protect policy development from the "vested interests of the tobacco industry" as there is an "irreconcilable conflict between the tobacco industry's interests and public health policy interests". In contrast, the alcohol industry has input into policy development in New Zealand, including managing Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD) and spending the Alcohol Levy, a $16 million fund to reduce alcohol harm, estimated in a 2024 report by NZIER to cost $9.1 billion a year. RNZ used the OIA to obtain 85 pages of emails detailing engagement between the Ministry of Health (MOH) and alcohol lobbyists, with Ross Bell emerging as the main conduit. One document describes a 90 minute meeting between lobbyists and MOH staff in February 2025 as "Alcohol industry reps and Ministry of Health regular meeting". The documents show the plan to manage FASD has been given to the alcohol industry. "Thanks for sharing the draft FASD plan," a wine lobbyist says in an email to public health officials, copying in a lobbyist with the spirits industry. The documents show alcohol lobbyists made their own submissions to MOH on how they believed FASD should be managed. The Spirits New Zealand submission runs to four pages but is entirely redacted by MOH under a section of the OIA designed to protect "the confidentiality of advice tendered by Ministers of the Crown and officials". RNZ has asked the Ombudsman to investigate whether the MOH can legitimately use this section of the OIA to protect correspondence from a spirits industry lobbyist. Alcohol industry's input The documents obtained by RNZ show Bell was receptive to requests from the alcohol industry. In November 2024 the Brewer's Association complained to Bell that references to a review of the low risk drinking guidelines were still on the Health New Zealand website, after it had already complained to him about it. It also took issue that the site linked to what other countries, including Canada, were doing with their advice on low-risk drinking. Bell intervened in an email to Health New Zealand in December 2024. "All work on this project will now pause. You will update relevant Health NZ websites to remove references to the review and also to other jurisdictions' guidelines (including the Canadian one)." Bell refused to be interviewed by RNZ but in a previous statement he said the material was removed from the website to avoid confusion, as the drinking guidelines were now led by the Ministry of Health not Health New Zealand which runs the website. He said that was an internal decision by MOH and that a review of the drinking guidelines was now on hold while the ministry considered its priorities. The documents obtained by RNZ show that Bell also shared the Alcohol Levy investment framework with wine and beer lobbyists in a November 2024 email. "As discussed and as promised, attached is the draft Alcohol Levy Investment Framework for your consideration and feedback," he wrote. The alcohol lobbyists then provided at least three pages of feedback on how the money should be spent. But again MOH is keeping all that information secret under the section of the OIA designed to protect "the confidentiality of advice tendered by Ministers of the Crown and officials". Minister for Mental Health Matt Doocey turned down RNZ's request for information on the Alcohol Levy but did release correspondence from alcohol lobbyists. Those documents included a July 2024 email to Doocey and his Cabinet colleague Shane Reti where the wine, beer and spirits industries pushed for greater involvement in setting alcohol policy. "We still believe industry has a lot to offer as government seeks to reduce harmful drinking," the booze lobbyists wrote. They pointed out that they funded the main education programme which teaches students about the impacts of alcohol. "We also fund, through our own social investment charity - The Tomorrow Project, an in-school theatre-based better drinking education programme called Smashed," the lobbyists told the Ministers. "Smashed is independently run and delivered by The Life Education Trust and reaches over 20,000 year 9 students every year." Filings with the Charities Services show that the beer, wine and spirits industries each paid $105,000 towards The Tomorrow Project, a charity entirely funded by the alcohol industry. The alcohol lobbyists also make a pitch for the government to "partner with industry" in deciding how to spend the Alcohol Levy and say they should be "working directly with officials" on reducing alcohol harm.
The Spinoff
8 hours ago
- The Spinoff
Five years on from the Zoom boom and in the middle of a cost of living crisis, Alex Casey investigates what is motivating women to still get Botox.
This story is supported by The Spinoff Members. To join them in supporting independent journalism, please donate today. The Spinoff: not backed by billionaires, backed by you. Spinoff Cover Stories are now available in audio form. Listen to this story below. The nurse welcomes me into the consultation room, and I take a seat in a cream leather chair beneath rainbow facial muscle maps and beaming blonde women. She isn't wearing scrubs as I was expecting, but a beige V-neck knit with simple gold jewellery, hair scraped back tight into a ponytail, forehead smoother than a gravy sandwich. As I stare at her face staring at my face, I notice she has tiny pale yellow bruises dotted on each of her temples – remnants of recent injections. 'OK, what are we looking at today?' she asks cheerily. Hmm, where to start? I'm nearing my mid-30s and am suddenly noticing lines everywhere, including this weird horizontal one above my eyebrow that almost seems like it is trying to be a third eyebrow? Also, it feels like heaps of my peers are getting Botox all of a sudden and I'm worried about looking like Doug the Spud at the tail end of his press tour next to them? Also, every day on Instagram I see women twice my age with foreheads that look 10 years younger than mine and it makes me feel insane so yeah, no wonder I have fucking frown lines? She arches her already unnaturally arched brows, nods sympathetically, and gets to work on her assessment. 'You are quite strong in the brow, and you are much stronger on one side.' It's only after a few more mentions of being 'strong' that I realise she's not using the word in the positive way, but closer to eg a strong fart or a strong stew. To target said strength above my eyebrows, I'd first need a few 'units' between the eyes to 'open them up' and then get to work on the brows, like how you spread pizza dough from the middle before you deal to the edges. 'Your eyebrows are also different shapes,' she posits, before suggesting I get more injected around my right eyebrow to raise it in line with the left, and also consider getting them professionally shaped. The clinic doesn't even offer eyebrow shaping – my busted mug has forced her off the books. It isn't all bad news, though. Apparently my 'corrugator' (whomst) is 'nice and short' and I have 'good volume' in the cheeks. It's like Marilyn herself once said – if you can't handle me at my wonky eyebrow, you don't deserve me at my short corrugator. To make matters even more bamboozling, the nurse then tells me that I look really good for my age. 'You are actually very young-looking – you are 33 but you look 23,' she says, before recommending I opt for an anti-wrinkle package valued at $375. She pulls out a blank treatment plan and a pen, hovering the nib around the blank-faced woman who stares back from beneath perfectly symmetrical eyebrows (OK I GET IT). I watch in horror as she circles four areas of immediate concern. Frown lines. Forehead lines. Brow lift. Crow's feet. Botox, or clostridium botulinum, is a purified protein which relaxes muscles and can soften the appearance of wrinkles. Its cosmetic use first began in New Zealand as early as 1996, but it took a while to take off. Sarah Hart, cosmetic doctor and co-president of the New Zealand Society of Cosmetic Medicine, says that awareness around Botox was 'minimal' when she first started offering it in 2002. 'But by 2005, after I treated patients on the TVNZ series 10 Years Younger in 10 Days, perceptions began to shift. Botox went from being seen as a treatment for celebrities to something accessible for everyday people.' After the arrival of social media in the 2010s, the proliferation of images and filters accelerated the demand for the treatment, Hart says. But it was the ' Zoom boom ' during the pandemic that opened the floodgates. 'People were spending hours seeing themselves on camera, often from unflattering angles,' she says. 'Combine that with more spare time to research treatments and extra savings from not going out, and you had the perfect conditions for a surge.' Although some clinics have since reported a dip in bookings due to the rising cost of living, Hart still has a long waiting list and says she hasn't seen any drop-off over the last five years. Because it pops up within both healthcare and the appearance industry, it is very hard to get any hard data on Botox in Aotearoa. An Official Information Act request about Botox-related injuries revealed that, over the last decade, ACC has accepted a total of just 42 claims relating to Botox (and its cousin Dysport) at a cost of $53,258. Botox can only be administered by trained medical professionals, primarily doctors and nurses, but they can operate everywhere from high-end dermatology clinics to the dentist chair to your humble mall beauty clinic. A rudimentary Google Map count suggests there are at least 400 places currently administering Botox across the motu. It is even harder to know, aside from asking everyone during the census (RIP) to also do The Rock eyebrow, who exactly is getting Botox out there. Caci Clinic is the largest skin clinic in the country, with 80 locations nationwide and a 60,000-strong annual customer base. Data provided to The Spinoff shows that just under 40% of Caci clients get regular anti-wrinkle/injectable treatments, including Botox. Within that, the largest proportion (29%) opt not to disclose their age, but at least 22% are aged 46-55, 17% are aged 56-75, and at least 10% are between the ages of 18 and 35. Three quarters of Caci's customers are women. That percentage is even higher within Hart's practice, which specialises in cosmetic medicine. She says 95% of her clients are women, aged anywhere from 20 to 80 years old, with a peak around the 50-54 age range. 'Botox continues to be more popular among women,' she says. 'Smooth, wrinkle-free skin is often considered a key component of youthful beauty for women, while research suggests that factors like a full head of hair and a strong, defined jawline tend to play a bigger role in perceived attractiveness for men. Botox targets wrinkles like crow's feet and forehead lines, which are often seen as less of a concern for men.' When I was around 10, I bought my mum crow's feet serum from the chemist for her birthday. 'I was horrified,' she reflects decades later. 'But I did laugh.' An unbelievable, soul-crushing neg of a gift for sure but, in my defence, I was a product of my environment. In the early 2000s, you'd take a break from watching some poor woman getting her face yanked up in Extreme Makeover to enjoy ads for Oil of Olay (still know the seven signs of ageing like the 10 commandments) or Andie MacDowell shooting nanosomes at her wrinkles with a fencing foil. Of course, the anti-ageing industry now has far stronger weapons in its arsenal. Every single day, wedged between war crimes and political horrors, the algorithm serves me ads for Botox memberships, and reels of young women inviting me to watch their forehead 'tox kick in. Swipe. ' Everyone does Botox,' beams Lindsay Lohan, who recently revealed a brand new face. Swipe. 'A confidence boost in a bottle! Introductory price 12 NZD per unit BOOK NOW.' Swipe. 'Read: Here's why Gen Z look younger than millennials' (I think I could hazard a guess). Swipe. In an attempt to further escalate my anxiety, I embark on interviews with dozens of Botox users around the country aged everywhere from mid 20s to mid 60s. The first surprise? It's not online strangers or celebrities that are the primary source of contagion, but real-life friends 'planting the seed' to start Botox. 'My best friend got it, and I was like, 'fuck, you look good'. And yeah, then I started,' laughs Erin*, 35. After bumping into an old pal she hadn't seen in a while, 38-year-old Bella* complimented her on her 'incredible' forehead. 'She said, 'thanks, I get Botox' – then I looked into it and started getting it too.' Others are motivated by the fear of being left behind. 'I started looking around at my friend group and thinking: 'why do I suddenly have way more lines than everyone else?'' says Fiona*, 42. 'Then I talked to my mum in her 60s about it, and she was like, 'oh, I've been getting Botox for years'. She never fucking told me.' A 39-year-old fence-sitter says she constantly feels like she has to 'keep up with the Joneses' when it comes to cosmetic treatments. 'So many of my friends get it, and it makes you feel like you're in this race against time – and everyone else.' 'Why do I suddenly have way more lines than everyone else?' Another strong subset of Botox users are new mums, many of whom report the same subtle peer pressure from their 'fresh-faced' coffee groups. 'When you have kids, you really lose yourself,' one mother of two under six says. 'It's a bit of a pick-me-up when you're feeling like a tired old mum.' Others have more conflicted feelings. 'I am excited to get some again, because I haven't slept for two years,' another mother of a two-year-old says. 'A part of me doesn't want to normalise it… But then, on a selfish level, I want to look like I have had a good night's sleep.' One 'haggard mum', Maia*, has noticed a couple of her mum friends getting Botox recently too, but, due to breastfeeding, is relieved to have the decision taken out of her hands for now. 'Look, I have zero judgment around people who decide to do it, but I do have an icky feeling around what is it saying to erase signs of ageing at a wider level,' she says. 'How do I feel about Botox as a Māori woman, when we die seven years earlier than our non-Māori counterparts, and when ageing is a privilege that so many of us don't get to experience? 'It feels warped to be thinking about something so trivial by comparison, but then this is not trivial – this is woven into the fabric of our society.' The average regular Botox user I speak to spends around $250 every three months, or $1,000 a year. Some use membership programmes costing anywhere from $20-$60 a week, and others just put money aside into a separate account. 'When it comes out of my bank account, I go 'that's probably not where my money should go',' says Nicky*, a 34-year-old lawyer. 'But then the time for the next treatment comes around, and I'm like 'well, I'll just do this one and I'll cancel the membership afterwards'. And then afterwards, I love my face, and I don't cancel it.' As for what is being eliminated, frown lines mostly. Sam*, a 35-year-old screen producer, blames the stress of her job. 'As a producer in this country, you cry and frown more than you smile. When my career became quite full on, I was just frowning so much. It wasn't the face I wanted to show the world, so I thought I better freeze it.' In Wellington, 38-year-old office worker Bella* noticed her 'furrowing brow' more often. 'Now my forehead is all nice and smooth, and I like that it adds a little bit of mystery as to what is going on in my brain.' Lisa*, a 47-year-old woman in marketing, also doesn't mind a bit of mystery. 'Let's just say my husband still doesn't know why I haven't had a frown since we've been married,' she laughs. One of the oldest regular Botox users I speak to is Liz*, a 65-year-old psychologist. She has worked for decades in education and health, manages a large team, and describes Botox as her way of combatting ageism at work. 'It's not easy to have grey hair and have wrinkles, and still be seen as somebody who's intelligent, who's got something to offer, who's got a lot of life in them yet, who doesn't want to retire,' she says. 'When I don't get Botox, I get constant comments about if I am tired, if I am sick, and people will do things like lift the chair out for me.' Her Botox habit is kept a secret from her friends, who are all retired already. 'There's a stigma about it at my age – why would you bother trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear?' she laughs. 'But the reality is we've still got a mortgage and I'm the only income earner, so I have to make different decisions. I can't afford to lose this job, so I have to be always seen to be one of the better people in the room.' Why would you bother trying to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear? Although she is confident in her decision, Liz admits she felt 'silly' at first about getting the treatment and was disappointed in herself. 'It took me about 10 years to tell my own daughter about it, because I felt like I was letting feminism down, and buying into this male view of what females need to look like,' she says. 'But then I also wanted to shut up all the comments about looking tired, so I took the easy way out.' When she retires, she'll retire the Botox too. 'Mine is just a means to an end – when I ditch work, I'll just go straight into trackpants with no Botox. It's going to be a very fast decline with my chickens.' In other professions, having Botox can actually get in the way of the job. Nadia*, a 35-year-old actor, recalls getting Botox after seeing herself on camera for the first time. 'It was all just about trying to make my face more symmetrical,' she says. 'After the very first time I got it, I had to shoot the last scene in this movie and I was like, 'fucking hell, I can't move my eyebrows'.' Another actor told me that they stopped using Botox after realising they 'couldn't smile all the way'. While doing these interviews, I notice how my own reality is slowly starting to warp around me. I record a 'Wednesday waffle' video for the group chat, but keep my eyes trained on my forehead for any wayward disturbances. I try to unwind at the end of the day with an episode of Selling Sunset, and feel gaslit by the emotional chasm that lies between the sordid onscreen drama and the eerily placid facial reactions. When Chelsea finds out her husband of seven years has been cheating on her, her entire face stays perfectly still as her eyes leak endless tears of betrayal and hurt. Anyone who watches reality TV will be used to Botox appearing as a featured extra. In the UK, the 'Love Island effect' led to girls as young as 15 making enhancements to their faces, with one aesthetician reporting a 12-fold surge in injectables inquiries after the premiere last year. In Australia, every season of Married at First Sight comes with a litany of headlines about what women on the show have had done to their faces. Even here on Celebrity Treasure Island, the family-friendly wriggle-the-biscuit-from-forehead-to-mouth game has been met with peals of laughter from women admitting they can no longer move their foreheads due to Botox. Kara Lester was a bride on Married at First Sight NZ last year, and is very open about her own Botox habits. 'I want to be very transparent about what I have done, because I don't want to pretend that my skin looks like this at 34 with no help,' she says. Lester has been getting regular Botox since she was 27 – 'I think that is too young' – and isn't fazed by losing certain expressions. 'Look, I'm willing to give up frowning and looking surprised in order to have a smooth forehead,' she laughs. 'My forehead is huge, there's a lot of real estate for wrinkles.' But beneath the gags, Lester has been thinking more seriously about her motivations. 'It's very hard for my brain to fully untangle what is for myself versus what I've been conditioned to believe is attractive,' she says. 'I think I'm doing it because it makes me feel more confident, but does it just make me feel more confident because society has taught me that I need to stay looking young?' She describes a lose-lose situation – 'because all the while, men are allowed to just get better with age, which is actually fucking diabolical when you think about it too hard.' Something else has drawn said 'diabolical' double standards into sharp focus for Lester. Married at First Sight NZ recently played in the UK, and Channel 4 posted a short interview clip with her to its Facebook page of over seven millions fans. There were more than 1,300 comments, many of which were vitriolic around Lester's appearance. 'People were saying things like 'talk to us when your face moves' or 'ew you've got Botox', but then there were as many people going 'you're so fucking wrinkly' and 'you're too old',' says Lester. 'There is literally nothing you can do to win or appease everybody. You're never gonna win, because women can't win.' There is currently no legal age limit on who can receive Botox in Aotearoa. The NZSCM ethical guidelines limit cosmetic Botox to those 18 or over, but membership is not mandatory. A scroll through the FAQs of local appearance clinics reveals a consistent 'no under-18s' rule, but one former beauty therapist says the reality was quite different. Molly* started working at an Auckland injectables clinic in 2021, and observed her 17-year-old co-worker getting regular Botox, as well as even younger women coming in with their mothers to get the treatment done. 'We saw quite a few teenage girls who'd come in and they'd had rhinoplasties already, so getting Botox was not a big deal for them,' Molly says. She recalls their arrivals and departures being quite hasty – 'because it was something that, understandably, was frowned upon'. Hart from NZSCM says that it is 'scary and inappropriate' to hear of anyone under the age of 18 getting cosmetic Botox. 'I would absolutely recommend that 18 is your lower limit, and even then you would be really examining the reasons, cautiously interviewing them and closely consulting for informed consent,' she says. Hart has even turned away clients asking for Botox in their early 20s, citing an interaction she had with a 22-year-old who had no visible lines. 'She said, 'well, all my friends are doing it, so I feel like I need to do it, otherwise I'll start ageing'.' Working in a clinic was Molly's first job after graduating from her beauty therapy studies, and she remembers feeling disillusioned by the true face of the industry. 'During my course, it was all about supporting primarily women and making them feel beautiful on the outside as a reflection of what they felt on the inside,' she says. 'Perhaps unsurprisingly, the clinic was really superficial and competitive, and it was implied that there wasn't really a way you could advance unless you had all the treatments done yourself, because you had to be a face for the brand.' That pressure came in the form of hefty discounts, staff injectable nights and encouraging staff to feature in before and after photos. Early on in the job, Molly received a formal written warning for not wearing enough makeup to cover her acne. 'It felt like 95% of our worth was physical appearance, regardless of anything else,' she says. The emphasis on treatments also created another, albeit less pressing, workplace quirk – 'it was quite hard to gauge anyone's age unless someone actually told you, or you saw their birth date on a piece of paperwork.' Molly also struggled with upselling – as a junior, she had to sell $2,000 worth of treatments and products to make her commission goal each month. 'I'm not one to put people down at all, but at the same time I couldn't go back to a client and say 'there's nothing wrong with you', because you always had to try to upsell them to get more treatment.' Other times, it was clients requesting more and more treatments that left her disillusioned. 'They would always find a way to make the way they looked a priority – no matter what sort of financial situation they were in.' Leaving the job in 2021 after just a few months, Molly says her time working in that Auckland clinic completely changed her outlook on the appearance industry – she has since retrained and works in a different field. 'The public would be disgusted if they actually saw beneath the pretty facade,' she says. 'I just try not to buy into any of it any more. The whole experience made me realise that if you keep trying to value yourself based on the way you look, you will always be looking for more, and it will never be enough.' It has been an illuminating journey chatting to people who know Botox like the back of their hands (also an area of concern for me), but I desperately need to hear from people who have never had it. Not just in the name of journalistic balance, but for preserving my own self worth. Like clockwork, local content creator Hannah Keys posts a photo of Kris Jenner to her 38,000 followers: 'this feels so unnatural and unsettling – she looks incredible but what does it mean for women that ageing gracefully isn't enough any more?' I immediately get in touch. 'It feels like we're in a Black Mirror episode where they've drunk some kind of forbidden juice that only the rich and the famous have got access to,' Keys says of the new breed of anti-ageing treatments. At 38 years old, Keys hasn't had Botox herself, but says clinics are prevalent in her home of Mount Maunganui. 'I am so aware of the women around me who are my age, but don't look my age,' she says. 'It feels like the standard is being raised, and if you're not partaking you are going to end up looking like chopped liver.' Despite feeling a huge amount of pressure living on 'our mini Gold Coast' to have work done, Hannah finds solace in her own mother's face. 'I think my mum still looks stunning at nearly 70 without having done anything, and I really hope that I can see myself through those kind eyes as I get older.' She also has a young daughter, which helps keep any nagging thoughts at bay. 'I just want to teach her to love herself as she is. So I think that's what keeps me honest, that I've got a little lady who's watching me and following my footsteps.' 'If you're not partaking, you are going to end up looking like chopped liver.' Other women are not quite as gentle with their language. 'What really pisses me off is that it is this fucking financial extraction from women, when we're already so much worse off than men,' says Sarah*, a 44-year-old writer in Canterbury. 'Women are already behind on retirement savings. We already earn less, we already have the pink tax and now we're being forced to do this as well? It's just this relentless march of appearance-based consumerism – just something else to spend money on, something else to make us feel bad about ourselves.' Sarah illustrates her point by referencing an elderly family member who recently got a blepharoplasty (removing excess eyelid skin) after a friend told her she looked tired. 'Of course she looks tired, she's fucking 80 years old.' There's another quiet part that Sarah isn't afraid to say out loud. 'I think this is all really about trying to arrest our decline into death, of which we are all terrified. Maybe we should be embracing ageing and death, instead of trying to avoid it all the time.' It's a sentiment echoed by Beth*, 49, a performer in Canterbury. 'I am extremely pro ageing, because the alternative is death,' she laughs. 'That's a real concern for me, that somehow we've gotten into this fixation, as in western society, that getting older is undesirable and something to avoid at all costs.' Like Sarah, she isn't one to mince words. 'It's also just patriarchal bullshit. Not only are we not allowed to take up space or make loud noises, now we're not even allowed to frown. And fuck me, there's a lot of stuff to frown about at the moment,' she says. 'I do feel like, if there wasn't this expectation that women looked a certain way, the world would be a vastly different place.' She proposes a thought experiment: 'Imagine if we just accepted the way that women look, at every point in their life? These multibillion-dollar industries would instantly collapse.' One of my last interviews is with a 53-year-old journalist in Auckland, who contains a similar seething rage. 'I'm angry, but I'm angry at the industry, not the people who have responded to it in a completely understandable way,' she says. 'I just think our culture is always trying to freeze women in their youth, but where is it all going to lead to? You're going to look like a baby in your coffin?' She's known women in their early 20s who have already started Botox, and begged them to consider the cost – regular use will amount to around $50,000 by the time you are 65. 'That could be time at home with a child, that could be several trips around the world. It's a lot to miss out on when you're looking back on your death bed – but at least you'll look like a baby.' At the end of my consult, the nurse has one more recommendation for me. 'Microneedling could also be a good option to help with pore size, scarring,' she says, eyes flitting to my pocked jawline, '… just general complexion.' I think of Molly, forced to upsell to meet her monthly targets. She writes down 'microneedling B&A [before and after]' on my treatment plan, and recommends that I look up the clinic's social media page to see the results. She doesn't mention that microneedling will add another couple hundred dollars to my ballooning busted-face bill. Instead, she hands me my treatment plan and sends me blinking back into the fluorescent lights of the reception. As I walk out, I pass another woman around my age and do a sheepish nod of solidarity – no silence is louder than that shared between two women passing each other at a beauty clinic. I didn't feel like what I had just experienced was self-care, nor did I feel particularly empowered. Instead, I am bubbling with an incandescent fury that I don't know where to direct. I am angry at the nice nurse for hurting my feelings, but I am angrier at myself for asking her to. Back in the car, I snap a photo of my treatment plan and send it to my 69-year-old mother. 'OMG if you need $375 for your frown lines and crows feet, your mother will need to take out a mortgage,' she replies. She workshops for a few moments, and then is back with another zinger. 'If you need a brow lift, I would probably need to fly overseas to be able to afford the deforestation team and construction hoist.' I drop a laugh emoji, but I'm not laughing. In my front-facing camera, I stare at my monstrous microwaved Mr Potato Head, all bulbous chipmunk cheeks, creased forehead, mismatched eyebrows sliding into oblivion. On the drive home, I can't stop checking out my 'strong' forehead lines in the rearview mirror. Couple of units there. Open the eyes up. More on that side. Shaping. Microneedling. I keep one hand on the steering wheel and use the other to gently lift the skin above my eyebrow, watching the wrinkles disappear and my brows align for the first time in 33 years. While appreciating this newfound symmetry, my car drifts ever-so-slightly over the centre line, a huge honk from an oncoming corporate cab quickly snapping me out of my haze. I put both hands back on the wheel, and vow to keep a very close eye on where I am headed.
